


Gasoline and Matches

by enthusiasticpedestrian



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Break Up, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-07-11 23:15:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15982562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthusiasticpedestrian/pseuds/enthusiasticpedestrian
Summary: Ronan Lynch was a match, ready to strike at any moment. Everyone he loved was gasoline, and they burned and blew away into nothing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfic in a while and I have never written fanfic for TRC so go easy on me. This is just an idea I've been wanting to work with for a while so we'll see how it goes.

When Ronan heard the knock at the door, he was a little preoccupied. Kavinsky had him pressed up against the wall of his bedroom in Monmouth Manufacturing. Gansey probably just forgot his key, he would give up waiting and jimmy the old door open in a minute or so. Kavinsky moved his lips down to Ronan’s collarbone. He heard the door knock again.

  
“K…” Ronan began. Kavinsky looked up at Ronan, then returned to the task at hand. Whoever it was knocked again.

  
“Ignore it.” Kavinsky insisted, kissing Ronan on the lips before following his breastbone towards his bare abdomen.

  
“It’s probably Gansey. He’ll be in here any moment we have to stop.” Ronan asserted. Kavinsky continued.

  
“K.” Ronan said definitively.

  
Kavinsky’s mouth made its way to the edge of Ronan’s jeans, where his muscles made a v towards the centre. His hands found the buckle on his belt.

  
“Joseph Kavinsky.” Ronan said, shoving him away.

  
Kavinsky looked at Ronan frustrated. Ronan picked up a shirt from the floor, he had already left the room when he realized he had grabbed Kavisnky’s by mistake. It smelled like his awful cologne. He pulled it over his head as he stepped through Gansey’s mess on the floor of the main room. Gansey thought outwards, any project he had ever worked on could be seen on the floor of Monmouth. Maybe that’s what lead Gansey to this place, he needed a full warehouse to store that brain of his. He heard another knock at the door.

  
“Next time remember your key!” Ronan shouted as he reached the door and pulled it open.

  
On the other side of the door was not Gansey, but two uniformed police officers. Ronan thought of the drug dealer lying sexually frustrated in his bedroom just fifty feet away. He wondered what he had done this time. He wondered if he would cover for him if it came to that.

  
“Ronan Lynch?” One of the officers said. He was a large man, hairline receded so far it hardly existed anymore, forehead and eyes wrinkled from too many late nights on the job. He stood a few steps ahead of the other officer, a woman who was likely his junior. She looked fresh-faced and eager, but there was a heaviness in her eyes. They both held their hats in their hands.

  
Ronan Lynch raised an eyebrow.

  
“Do you mind if we come in?” The first officer continued.

  
Ronan looked past them, through the exterior windows, at the police car in the driveway next to Kavinsky’s Evo and Ronan’s beater car. He sighed and pulled the door all the way open. He watched as the officers stepped over Gansey’s mess. To a stranger’s eye, the main room of Monmouth Manufacturing looked like that of an old hoarder rather than a university history student. Papers and boxes littered nearly every inch of the massive space. Gansey’s desk was the capstone in the center of the room, paralleled only by his bed a few feet to the left. No other furniture filled the space, the exterior contents of Gansey’s brain made up for the lack of seating.

  
The officers, unable to find another open place to stand, instead stood right next to the door. Ronan hoped Kavinsky was smart enough not to come and see what the noise was about. If the officer’s didn’t recognize his car, they would surely recognize Kavinsky himself, well known amongst local law enforcement for being the bane of their existence. Ronan left the cops to stare at the room as he occupied himself with the papers on Gansey’s desk. He waited for them to speak.

  
“Mr. Lynch you might want to sit down.”

  
Ronan looked up. He knew enough about the goings on of cops to know that whenever they asked you to sit down the words that followed were never good. He thought about his brothers. He had just seen Matthew that morning when they had met for lunch at Aglionby. Declan was in D.C. being a lawyer or something. He thought about Gansey, off somewhere with Blue for the night. Their youth making them seem invincible. Ronan gestured around, there were no chairs in sight. He remained standing.

  
The officer that was doing all the talking cleared his throat.

  
“Mr. Lynch there has been an accident.”

  
Ronan put down the paper that was in his hand.

  
“Paramedics arrived as soon as they could, but we are sorry to inform you that Niall Lynch was found dead on the scene.”

  
It took a moment for the words to register. Accident. Niall Lynch. Dead.

  
“I don’t understand.”

  
Niall had called Ronan that morning. Ronan had ignored his call because Kavinsky was there and he didn’t want to disturb him. Ronan had seen Niall the week before. Ronan had wanted to tell him about Kavinsky, to tell him the truth of where he gone those late nights back in Aglionby, but then he would also have to tell him the truth about where the bruises came from. The police officer began to speak again.

  
“You’re lying.” Ronan interrupted. He shoved Gansey’s desk aside. It was a gargantuan, mahogany thing and hardly reacted to Ronan’s outburst, only increasing Ronan’s frustration. He threw the items on the surface of the desk aside with a bang.

  
“Mr. Lynch you should sit down.”

  
“I’m not going to fucking sit down!” Ronan yelled, slamming his fists on the desk. Surely, Kavinsky would come out now. That would go over great. The police would see Ronan was hiding a drug dealer. Kavinsky would see Ronan cry. He could picture the scene now.

  
“Get out.” Ronan said calmly.

  
“Mr. Lynch is there someone we can call for you? Grief can be a complicated thing and you shouldn’t be alone right now…” The female officer stepped towards him.

  
“Get out!” Ronan shouted. The female officer looked back at her colleague. He nodded.

  
“Mr. Lynch, another officer will be by in the coming days to handle your father’s affairs. As the next of kin…”

  
“Tell them to call Declan.” Ronan stated.

  
“I’m sorry?” The officer said, thrown off when his tin-canned speech was interrupted.

  
“Delcan Lynch. He’s a lawyer in D.C. He’s the next of kin. I don’t want anyone coming back here.” Muttered Ronan.

  
“Mr. Lynch your name was listed…”

  
“I don’t care. Call Declan. Leave me alone. Now get out.” Ronan turned around and kicked Gansey’s bed.

"We’re sorry for your loss Mr. Lynch.” The female officer said calmly.

  
“I’m not fucking Mr. Lynch.” Ronan growled, in a way only a Lynch can.

  
“If you need anything Ronan,” the male officer took a card out of his breast pocket, “You can give us a call.” He walked forward and placed the card on the desk before following the other officer out the door.

  
Ronan wanted to flip something, to hurt someone, to do anything but stand surrounded by garbage in an empty factory, the news of his father’s death lingering in the stale and silent air. He heard his bedroom door open, and Kavinsky step into the room. He was still shirtless. Ronan remembered he was wearing his shirt. Ronan began to take it off, wanting to rid himself of the other boy for the time being.

  
“No, keep it, it looks good on you.” Kavinsky said slyly, walking towards Ronan. Ronan took off the shirt and threw it at Kavinsky who caught it with a surprise.

  
“What’s going on out here anyway? I heard yelling and banging. I almost came out here thinking you were having too much fun without me.” He scoffed. Ronan walked up to the front door and opened it without saying a word.

  
“Not in the mood for talking anymore? I get it. I have ideas that don’t involve talking. Maybe take your mind off things.” Kavinsky came over towards Ronan and lowered himself down to his knees. Ronan shoved him off. Ronan knew he should take advantage of Kavinsky being in a good mood for a change. He knew Kavinsky would make him regret his use of force the next time he was over looking to blow of some steam. Ronan didn’t care.

  
“Jackass.” Kavinsky said, pulling the shirt over his as he took the stairs two at a time. Ronan wondered where he was going in such a rush. He shut the door.

  
He hadn’t turned on the lights in the main room of Monmouth when he came out to meet the police. Then, it was the familiar darkness of the place he had called home ever since he graduated from Aglionby. Now, the room was eerily dark, lit only by the surrounding streetlights outside. He shoved through Gansey’s things to his room, and lied down in the dark on his unmade mattress. It seemed like hours had passed before he heard Gansey’s Camaro pull into the driveway. He heard the deadbolt turn, then turn again, as Gansey arrived home from his date. Ronan hadn’t locked the door when Kavinsky had left. Gansey had remembered his key.

  
“I’m sorry I’m late. There was an accident in town and there was a lot of traffic.” Gansey said to an empty room.

  
“Ronan? Are you home?”

  
Ronan didn’t respond. Just stared at the tall ceiling above him. Gansey must have been satisfied that Ronan was in fact not home and went about his nightly puttering. He heard him swear as he discovered the contents of his desk on the floor. Heard him rustle papers into some semblance of order, although Ronan wasn’t sure there really was one. Heard him sweep up the remains of the potted plant that had been on his desk when he left that afternoon.

  
Ronan wondered if they had reached Declan yet. If they would send a representative into D.C. to deliver the news. He wondered if they had knocked on Matthew’s door at Aglionby in the middle of the night, interrupting his late night study session. He wondered if they too had asked him to sit down and told him the news that his father was dead. He wondered if that was going to have to be his job. He wondered if he could preserve Matthew’s innocence a little bit longer.

  
He wondered where Kavinsky was, and what consequence Ronan would face for not giving him what he wanted when he wanted it. He wondered why he had dealt with him for so long.

  
He reached under his bed for the bottle of cheap vodka wrapped in a paper bag he had hidden for special occasions. He twisted off the cap and took a big swig. The liquid burned his throat. He took another sip. He drank until his brain went fuzzy and then set the bottle down on the floor with a clunk. He wanted to drown himself in it. He turned his head towards the door. Gansey stood in the doorway. He picked up the bottle from the ground and pulled back the paper to reveal the label. He had his glasses on and his hair was a messy silhouette as the light from the other room came through the doorway. Gansey knew better than to come in Ronan’s room unless necessary. Gansey took the bottle with him, but left Ronan alone with his thoughts. He didn’t want to think about his father or Gansey or Kavinsky or his brothers. He wanted to disappear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for Ash. You deserved better.

Ronan Lynch hated his phone before the accident. Before the accident, it was just a nuisance Kavinsky had burdened him with so that he could know Ronan’s every whereabouts. Before the accident, Gansey had used it to remind Ronan to pick up milk or eggs whenever he was out on one of his late night drives. Before the accident, Declan had used it to notify him of any upcoming ‘Lynch Family Appearances’ that made him look good in politics. Before the accident, it was annoying sure, but easily ignored when tossed in the backseat or forgotten on his dresser.

After the accident, it was a constant reminder of what was missing. 

Ronan hadn’t been able to bring himself to check it since the police knocked on the door of Monmouth two days earlier. Save trips to the bathroom and the liquor cabinet, Ronan hadn’t left his bedroom, hadn’t interacted with anyone except Gansey, who occasionally came in to confiscate a bottle. The bottle arrests didn’t stop him, he had other ways of escaping reality, but it made Gansey feel like he was doing something to help, so Ronan let him. 

Surely, he knew by now. Surely, everyone knew by now. News travelled fast in small towns like Henrrietta, especially when the news involved the one of the richest men in Virginia and his now orphaned three sons.

He didn’t want to see anyone. He didn’t want to hear about the accident, or know how sorry people were about it, or how much of a great man the late Niall Lynch was. He didn’t want to acknowledge the accident at all. He was the only one at the door when the police came, maybe if he ignored it long enough he would forget it had ever happened. 

Niall Lynch, famed businessman, antique tycoon, millionaire widower, proprietor of farms, father of three, was dead. 

On the fourth day, while Gansey was out, Ronan heard the familiar hum of Kavinsky’s Evo roaring into the driveway. He hoped the door was locked, hoped Kavinsky hadn’t somehow magically made a key appear, hoped to God that Joseph Kavinsky wasn’t about to walk into his bedroom and convince him to do something he would regret. 

“I come bearing gifts.”

Kavinsky stood in the doorway of Ronan’s bedroom, dangling a small zip-top bag of white powder. 

Ronan didn’t move from his position, lying on his book on the old mattress on the floor. 

“What no ‘Thank you’?” Kavinsky said, walking towards the bed. He towered over Ronan lying down, and smirked. Kavinsky loved feeling like he had power. 

"After that little stunt the other day I would expect more from you.”

Kavinsky stepped over Ronan’s still frame so that he was directly on top of him, one foot by either hip. 

Ronan stared right through him. He hated when he did this, when Kavinsky made it impossible to tell if this was a truce or a Trojan horse. 

He lowered himself to his knees and straddled the other boy, leaning down to kiss Ronan’s neck. Ronan turned his head away. Kavinsky moved to lay down beside him.

“I’m sorry about your dad.”

Kavinsky had a different voice when he was telling the truth. Around his friends, Joseph Kavinsky spoke quickly and loud. Everything he said was a command that needed to be followed and everyone around was eager to do it. In rare instances when Kavinsky was ever being genuine, his voice dropped. He spoke slowly and calmly. This was a voice reserved almost exclusively for Ronan. 

“I was just trying to get your mind off, even for a second,” he admitted. Ronan observed K, his eyes sunken and sad. His face inches away from Ronan’s. Ronan brought their lips together. He didn’t think about Kavinsky’s true motives for being there. He didn’t think of all the bad things that lead to Kavinsky lying next to him. For a moment, it didn’t matter. In the end, Kavinsky was what he always was – a welcome distraction. 

-

When Ronan woke up a couple hours later, K was still there. It was strange how someone so deadly sharp while awake could look so peaceful in sleep. It was moments like these where Ronan was reminded why he stayed. Moments like these where Ronan could actually picture bringing a boy, this boy, home to the Barns for dinner with his family.

The thought of the Barns brought him abruptly back to reality. He was painfully sober. Ronan looked at the old clock on the wall, a reminder of the days when this bedroom was an office and Monmouth, a factory. It was mid-afternoon, and Ronan could see the slits of sun through the closed curtains. 

Head pounding as he got up, Ronan stepped over the sleeping boy onto the cool floor. His phone buzzed incessantly on the dresser, only worsening the headache. Ronan realized he was still wearing the same clothes he had been four days ago. He grabbed a black shirt off the floor that smelled fine and a pair of dark jeans from the dresser, careful not to wake Kavinsky in the process. He stepped into the brightness of Monmouth. It seemed like it should be different. It seemed like all of Henrietta should be different now with Niall Lynch gone. It was agonizingly unchanged. 

Ronan made his way to the bathroom. Whoever had designed Monmouth Manufacturing sometime before 1973 hadn’t intended the factory floors to eventually evolve into a brick laid prison of domesticity. This was especially evident when it came to the bathroom. The shower was in an alcove in the kitchen, the toilet stalls opposite. Ronan went to the former, but stopped when he saw himself in the mirror. 

It was evident that he hadn’t shaved in a few days. The lower half of his face was dark with the beginnings of facial hair. There were dark purple half-circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. Ronan didn’t often look at himself in the mirror, and he found himself overanalyzing every inch of his face. He looked away.  
After fiddling with the shower knobs for a few minutes, Ronan managed to get a steady stream of warm water going. After undressing, he let the water pour over his head. He brushed his hand over his buzzed scalp. He let himself cry. 

It was slow at first, a few tears mixing in with the running water, invisible. Soon enough, he couldn’t stop. He was shaking now, letting out the sob he had been holding in since he shut the door on the police four days earlier. 

He stayed until the water went cold and his fingers pruned. Until there were no tears left in his body. He turned the water off.

-

Ronan returned to his bedroom to find K still sleeping. He placed a kiss on his forehead and laid down beside him, leaning against his chest. K made a quiet whimper.

“Good morning sunshine,” K said sarcastically, opening his eyes with a yawn. He wrapped his arms around Ronan. He looked up at the clock.

“Fuck!” He yelled, shoving Ronan off him. Kavinsky got up quickly, destroying everything in his wake. 

Ronan sat up with a start. “K, what’s wrong?”

“Stupid. Fucking stupid. This is all your fault.” Kavinsky snapped, patting at his pockets as if he forgot something. 

“What’s going on?” Ronan stood up in the doorway.

“I’m late, that’s what the fuck’s going on. Out of my way.” He shoved Ronan as he stormed out of the room. Any semblance of calm in Kavinsky’s body dismantled. The events of the afternoon vanished. Ronan knew better than to go anywhere near Kavinsky when he was in one of these moods, but he missed the calm of them lying in bed together, the hour of an escape that he had given him. 

“K…” Ronan pleaded.

“Fuck off Lynch. Get back to your crying about your dead mommy and daddy. I got better things to do.” Kavinsky declared, as the door slammed behind him. 

The windows shook as the door closed. Ronan didn’t know where Kavinsky went when he ran off like this. He assumed it was to something illegal, something it was best he didn’t know so he wouldn’t have to lie. His words hung in the air. He didn’t know what he was to Kavinsky. He didn’t know what he was in general every time Kavinsky left. Kavinsky went to do better things. Ronan went to the liquor cabinet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna try to upload a new chapter once a week likely on Thursdays but don't hold me to it. I'm glad you guys seem to be enjoying it as much as I do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooo a pov change how edgy
> 
> also sorry for the delay it's been a rough month

 When Gansey returned that evening, he knew Ronan was drunk. It wasn’t the first time he had opened the door of Monmouth to the reeking stench of cheap spirits and vomit, it wasn’t even the first time that week. It was the first time that Gansey had returned home to Ronan shirtless in his bed. That was a new development. He was glad his girlfriend Blue hadn’t decided to come by the house after dinner, although maybe she would know how to handle Ronan better than he did. Blue had a sort of understanding of Ronan that even Gansey’s seven-year friendship couldn’t rival. She always knew what to do when Ronan was in one of his downward spirals. The tyrannous cyclone that was following Niall Lynch’s death however was a completely new territory. 

Gansey hung his jacket and bag on the hook and slipped off his shoes. Ronan didn’t move, but upon closer inspection Gansey could see the slow rise and fall of his bare back. The source of the smell became evident. Ronan had fallen asleep with a bottle in his hand and its contents had since spilt onto Gansey’s rug. Next to the spill, were the remnants of the few meals Ronan had eaten in the past few days, the lack of air circulation at Monmouth making the smell all the more potent. 

Gansey argued with himself whether to wake him. Ronan had trouble sleeping before his father died, now he just laid awake for hours on end. He wasn’t sure if a drunken stupor counted as sleep, but he also wasn’t sure if he had the energy to deal with a drunk Ronan right now. It was late, Gansey had an 8am class the next morning, and he had been in class all day. Ronan on a good day could be difficult to deal with, Gansey wouldn’t wish on-a-bad-day-and-intoxicated Ronan on his worst enemy. He could just sleep in their old roommate Noah’s room. Noah was going to school in New York, and most of his belongings had gone with him. Now his room at Monmouth lay stagnant, and Monmouth as a whole felt more empty with one less body in it.

Gansey grabbed a mint-leaf from the now repotted plant on his desk, and chewed it as he stole another glance at Ronan. They hadn’t spoken in days. He wasn’t sure what to say exactly. It felt like they were in a fight, except the argument was silent and the topic was Ronan’s new found drinking problem and which you-know-who it was caused by. Gansey’s phone vibrated in his chino pocket. He picked it up without checking the ID.  
“Gansey,” he said, as both an introduction and a greeting. 

“Gansey?” the voice repeated. Gansey recognized it as Declan Lynch, Ronan’s older brother. He wondered how he had gotten Gansey’s number. He wondered why he had decided to call it now.

“Aforementioned and speaking,” Gansey said. “To what do I owe the pleasure Declan?”

“I need to speak to my brother.” Declan said, making normal sentences sound ridiculously formal as only old-money individuals can. 

“He’s a bit incapacitated at the moment. Can I take a message?” Gansey said. Ronan hated speaking to his older brother sober, let alone when he could hardly make out a coherent thought.

“That bastard,” Declan muttered under his breath. 

“I don’t think he’d appreciate that message.” Gansey snarked. Declan sighed.

“Tell him I’m back in Henrietta and that I’m staying at a hotel. That Matthew had to find out from the fucking news report about his own dad’s death, and that Ronan needs to grow the fuck up and deal with his own responsibilities,” Declan barked. Gansey let that sink in. The elder two Lynch brothers were a complicated set, hated eachother almost as much as they secretly cared about eachother. Both of them loved Matthew endlessly. Both of them missed their mother. Both of them hated that Ronan was Niall’s favourite. Gansey knew Ronan had been debilitated since learning of his father’s death, but he hadn’t thought of how that might have affected his brothers. 

“I’ll tell him,” is all he managed to muster. Gansey thought he heard the eldest Lynch brother let out a quiet cry before hanging up the phone.

Ronan was drowsily awake now, looking up at Gansey. He wasn’t sure what had woken him, Gansey’s quiet responses or if the pure anger of his brother’s grief had managed to wake him up from across town. Gansey would wait until morning to tell him. Wait until he was sober enough to comprehend the weight of what was happening. He sighed, and walked past Ronan towards Noah’s room. 

“Fuck everybody,” Ronan slurred. Gansey stopped. 

“My dad’s dead.” Ronan said definitively. Gansey turned around to face him. Ronan was still lying on his stomach. Drunk Ronan showed no emotions. After a moment, Ronan started again. 

“I’m just like him you know.”

“Who?”

Ronan contemplated a moment.

“KA-vinsky,” He clarified. Barking the first syllable and murmuring the last two. Gansey knew about Joseph Kavinksy. He knew him and Ronan had been in some sort of messed-up masochistic thing since their years at Aglionby. He didn’t know exactly what – Ronan kept his personal life private, and everything with Kavinsky behind locked steel doors – but he knew whatever it was, Ronan always came home drunk or high and with bruises on his pale skin. Whenever questioned, Ronan would just slam the door in Gansey’s face and wouldn’t talk to him for days, until Kavinsky went too far and Gansey needed to pick up the pieces. Kavinsky was psychotic. Constantly racing cars and throwing parties in the fields surrounding Henrietta. Setting fires just to see what he could burn this time, not caring who got hurt in the process. Ronan was nothing like Kavinsky. 

“How?” Gansey dignified. 

Ronan laughed. “Two dead parents and one hell of a substance problem.”

“Ronan…” Gansey sighed. Ronan interrupted him. 

“Running away from all his problems. Running away from… from… me.” Ronan sounded hurt now, and laid for a moment, contemplating his words. Gansey didn’t say anything. 

“My dad’s dead you know,” Ronan continued, maybe it helped him to say it outloud. “Fuck everybody. He’s not supposed to fucking die. He’s… He’s Niall Lynch he’s supposed to be in... um.. in-vacata-ble.. in…”

“Invincible?” Gansey guessed.

“Yeah,” Ronan sighed. Niether boy said anything. Gansey looked down at his friend across the room. Grieving for his father. Messed-up by Kavinsky. Gansey wanted to believe he had been better before, back at Aglionby, before Kavinsky and the weight of being an adult Lynch was added to his shoulders. Before him and Declan had stopped talking. Before his father had died. Gansey wanted to believe that, but he wasn’t sure it was true. Ronan had been different, sure, but he had always been angry at something. Gansey wasn’t sure if he would ever know what made him so angry.

“Omnia iam fient quae posse negabam,” Ronan slurred. Gansey couldn’t believe that even drunk, Ronan could speak perfect Latin. Gansey knew the phrase. Everything which I used to say could not happen, will happen now. 

“Goodnight Ronan.” Gansey said, turning off the lightswitch.


End file.
